


The Seventh Horcrux.

by AilaJ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Horcruxes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AilaJ/pseuds/AilaJ
Summary: Lilith: baby nabbing, bitter ex from the depths of hell. A rather fitting name, he had thought, for the soul-sucking parasite of one Tom Riddle.Hermione slapped him across the cheek, however, and called him a prat, so he chose Venus and reveled in the opportunity to make long-winded speeches about the virtue of love, the baby cradled carefully to his chest. No-one understood the joke, of course, but Harry liked to think it proved endlessly amusing to the ever-watching Dumbledore.--In which a second baby was left on the front-step of number 4 privet drive and, really, how was Harry meant to know it was a Horcrux?--
Kudos: 1





	The Seventh Horcrux.

Harry found it, gazing down at the squashed features with a confounding sense of deja vu.

It was a crisp summer morning. The clear skies promised a smoldering afternoon, but the grass still crunched below his boot and Harry found himself suitably amused at the notion of leaving a child out on the front porch step.

Perhaps, he considered, as he squatted down to inspect the bundle, the notion should have offended him altogether more passionately, but there were only so many times you could bring yourself to despair at the state of the world before it all became distinctly comical. It was to the great dismay to Mia, who routinely informed him it was "a dangerous path to tread" and foretold dark tales of twisted morality, blood, and power.

It was a squirmy thing: podgy, with altogether too many fingers and garishly large eyes. He poked at it carefully, scrunching up his nose as it chuckled, and plucked up the folded notebook page between his thumb and forefinger.

He read it once, cast a speculative glance back down at the little goblin, then indulged a creeping fear. With a flick, he swept back the dark curls from its brow.

Harry let out a breathy sigh, rocking back onto his heels, "Well, thank _fuck_. You never do know with him, you know?"

He considered it, just a moment, with a scrunched brow, "Voldemort, that is. He kills babies, that man, nasty business. Well, he _tries_. Can't be good at everything. Though, I suppose I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore. He does have this _thing_ about orphans."

He frowned down at it, chuckling to himself as he watched the tiny features crumple down to mirror his expression.

He skimmed the note a second time.

"Dumbledore," he continued, amicable enough, "is off his bloody rocker. Many bear his madness for his loving nature, but I tell you, he treads a fine line."

The little creature let out a tinkling giggle, grasping out with one hand to Harry.

"No. No, it's not funny at all. Some would say that it is actually very inappropriate as a headmaster," he intoned, then, with a slight shake of the head and a warning glance its way (just to ensure it wouldn't take his exposed back as an invitation to inch forwards like some shriveled weeping-angel), he spun to regard the hall.

"AUNT PETUNIA! HE'S ONLY GONE AND DONE IT AGAIN!"

He refused to blame his blatant glee as to why he found himself- not even an hour later- standing a few streets down with the creature clutched to his chest. It was reasonable to assume nothing good would have come out of the situation, whether or not he maintained a sense of the decorum and fashioned up some sorrow.

It was a testament to his life that Harry Potter could not even find it within himself to be surprised.


End file.
